


The Sundering of the Teleri

by Emerla



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-11 17:35:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2076999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emerla/pseuds/Emerla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elwë does not return, and as the decades drag on, his people begin to split once again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Was it disloyal to Elwë to build vessels that would be the means to abandon him? For Círdan could not lie to himself about the purpose of his experiments, nor deny that he was dedicating more of his time to boats than he was to combing the unexplored expanses of Beleriand. Elmo resented his shift in focus, pointedly refusing to venture near the sea, while Olwë’s relocation to the Falas spoke volumes. The Teleri were splitting once again.

While the boats were being assembled, Círdan did not have to choose, but as they neared completion, the time he spent constructing, testing and adjusting them grew ever smaller. Once they were seaworthy, the forsaken Teleri would brave the endless waves and sail westwards, but to finally leave these shores was to give up on Elwë, and that was a dilemma Círdan would rather not face. Thus it happened that he was searching the forests of Beleriand, beyond the places which the elves had begun to name, when Olwë came to tell him of the return of the island.

“Círdan is not here,” Elmo informed him, frowning as if their last argument had broken off mere hours, not years, ago. “He is looking for our brother.” _Unlike you_. The unspoken accusation stood between them, old but still true.

“We are leaving,” Olwë said flatly.

Elmo made as if to speak, then closed his mouth. What was there to accuse his brother of that he had not done already?

“There is nothing more I can accomplish here,” Olwë continued, willing Elmo to understand. “My people are anxious to be gone – I have failed them once already, I will not waste this chance to compensate for that. My choices cannot help Elwë anymore, but I can do something for the elves who spend their days scanning the horizon for a sign that they have not been forgotten. Have you heard their songs, Elmo, their laments for the lands beyond their reach?”

“These are good lands,” Elmo said simply. “We can survive here.”

“Are you not tired of just surviving? This was supposed to be a brief stop on the way to the home that has been prepared for us, where we may live in safety and light. Elwë left us for the first time in search of that – would you begrudge me the same?” Olwë knew he was pleading by then, but he could not bear the disappointment that soured every conversation he had had with his little brother since admitting how much he wanted to leave.

“Elwë promised to return if he survived that journey!” Elmo protested. “He could have reached Valinor faster by himself, but he would not let our people be left behind unless it was by their own choice.”

“Yet we _have_ been left behind, in spite of his best efforts, and I must do what he could not,” Olwë said, not quite managing to keep the waver from his voice. “I cannot bear to linger any longer.”

“I will not blame you for that,” Elmo said, unable to attack his brother’s vulnerability. “But I will miss you.”

“As I will miss you,” Olwë said, his relief tempered by sorrow. “And Círdan – tell him goodbye, for me.”

“Are you not going to wait for him?” Elmo asked.

“He has been spending so little time by the sea of late that I have scarcely seen him, and his ships remain unfinished. No, I go alone, and yet I worry more for you. Stay safe, my brother.”


	2. Chapter 2

If Elwë had been captivated by the woods of Beleriand and simply carried on walking, away from the rigours of driving reluctant Teleri over countless distances, Círdan could understand the temptation. The quiet dignity of the trees had a soothing quality, an air of permanence, unlike his beloved restless sea. There were times the waves, starlight and songs reminded him too much of Cuiviénen, where he had sought the water in fear of the things that prowled the land. He had to remind himself the forest was not so far removed from that reality: elves vanished here as well, snatched away in the darkness by creatures all the more fearful for their mystery.

That was Elwë’s likely fate, for pleasant as the idea of him wandering Beleriand was, it was not characteristic of him. An incessant desire to move on, to know more, to find something better – yes, but he would not stray from his purpose, nor forsake his people.He was not a selfish king. And yet that was why Círdan still hoped for his return – because Elwë would do all in his power to try, and his power was greater than that of the elves who had disappeared at Cuiviénen. If anyone could survive such a fate, it was he.

“Círdan!”

His contemplation was broken by the approach of a messenger.

“Olwë came for you,” she said.

Uneasiness began to gnaw at him.

“Why? When? Is he still there?”

“I do not know,” she said, slightly bewildered. “It took some time to find you.”

Círdan ran.

He found Elmo tallying the food stores, his brother nowhere in sight.

“Where’s Olwë?” he asked urgently, his eyes scanning Elmo’s face for signs of reassurance. Olwë’s visits to the woodland settlement had dwindled to nothing – there were few matters of sufficient importance to bring him here, and Círdan could guess which this one was.

“I am sorry,” Elmo said.

Círdan was too late for the island.

He was not too late to watch it vanish beyond the horizon, glinting with some far distant light.

In the shock of being severed suddenly, unwillingly, from his kin, his people and his deepest desire in a single blow, all that crossed his mind was the tragic irony of his situation. In steeling himself to choose Valinor over Elwë, the opposite choice had been made for him; now that he was finally ready to go, he could not. That was the price of indecision. Though… perhaps the choice had not been completely taken away. The sea was no barrier to an elf who could sail.

“I will follow that light!” he cried to the wheeling seagulls.

But some greater being was listening, and it gave a dreadful warning of the perils of the voyage which he had not yet the skill to endure. The voice might have spoken, he did not know, but it impressed upon him the absolute impossibility of departure. Círdan quailed as his senses were overwhelmed by the thousand ways he would perish, by wind and wave, by tempest and the whim of Ossë.

“I obey,” he said weakly, sinking to his knees. There was no use questioning the will of the Valar; if they wanted him here, he would have to stay.

And then he understood why.

Blazing with light, it passed overhead and sailed into the sky, until it joined the stars twinkling in the west.

Círdan had a ship to build.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final scene, with Círdan on the beach, is based on the short section on him in Volume 12 in the History of Middle-Earth.


End file.
